


Night Train

by Greensilver (Trelkez)



Category: due South
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-03
Updated: 2007-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-03 01:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trelkez/pseuds/Greensilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Ray had gone a little crazy, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night Train

**Author's Note:**

> Written for dS Match 2007 on Team Angst, to the prompt: "When will you be back?"

He almost ignored the phone. The whole family was down in Florida visiting Aunt Lena, and odds were this was Frannie wanting to complain about Ma, or Maria wanting to complain about Frannie, or Ma wanting to guilt trip him for not being the kind of _good_ nephew that would've visited his poor Aunt Lena for once in his life. Sure, there was a slim chance it was someone from the station, but the key word there was _slim_.

Still, he rolled his eyes, sucked it up, and answered the phone like a good son, or brother, or cop - whichever.

"Vecchio," he said, and waited, jamming the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he rummaged through the fridge for leftovers. "Hello? Anyone there? This some kind of prank? 'Cause you might think it's funny now, but you won't think it's so funny when I tell you I'm Chicago P.D., and that I know where you--"

"Ray," Fraser interrupted, his voice soft, almost exasperated.

"Uh," Ray said, his brain not quite keeping up with current events. His neck was getting a crick in it and all the cold air was getting out of the fridge and he'd dropped his beer all over the kitchen floor, but he hadn't quite gotten around to noticing any of that yet, because he was still trying to process the fact that Fraser was on the other end of the line. "Benny?"

"Yes, Ray." Fraser cleared his throat. "I can't talk for very long; we're just stopped for a moment in - no, I shouldn't tell you where I am, I wouldn't want to make things awkward for you--"

"_Awkward_?" Okay, _now_ Ray's brain was working again; maybe that had to do with his blood pressure shooting through the roof. He kicked the fridge door shut, ignoring the slight flare of guilt he felt at kicking his ma's appliances. "You wouldn't want to make things _awkward_ for me? Is that some kind of new leaf you're turning over, Fraser? Because, believe me, when it comes to _awkward_\--"

"I'm sorry, Ray," Fraser interrupted, or tried to.

"What the hell were you thinking, going after her like that?" Ray still had a lot of fight in him, a hell of a lot, but he was tired - exhausted, really - and maybe that was coming through in his voice; maybe that was why his voice cracked a little in places. "I thought - Jesus, Benny. I shot you. I thought I'd killed you."

"You didn't," Fraser assured him, like maybe Ray thought he was calling from beyond the grave.

"Yeah, I figured that out after a while," Ray said, trying not to sound _too_ accusing; he didn't want to scare Fraser off. "You can only spend so long looking up John Does in morgues along a train route before you figure the person you're looking for probably _isn't_ dead."

There was a long silence on the line. Fraser's end had a little bit of white noise on it - too soft and even to be static; rain, maybe. Wherever he was, it was raining there.

Ray said again, quieter: "What the hell were you thinking?"

He knew the words were coming - there was only one real answer to that question - and since he expected them, they shouldn't have hurt.

"I love her," Fraser said, barely audible. He sounded almost regretful; Ray wasn't imagining that - it was there, in Fraser's voice. "I couldn't--" Nothing but rain on the line again, and then-- "I'm sorry, Ray."

Ray couldn't breathe. His chest felt too tight, like he was back on the train tracks, running a one-man marathon. He'd lost sight of the train, but if he just kept going, eventually the train would have to stop, and if he just kept running, if he just - if he just kept - but he couldn't breathe, and he _had_ to stop--

"Fraser, I--" He stopped, at a loss. What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to ask Fraser to take it back, to do it over? Was he supposed to ask Fraser to love him _more_, or at least as much?

He took all of those sentiments, and put them in words Fraser would understand.

"When will you be back?" Ray closed his eyes and gripped the phone, not really hoping, not really able not to hope. He didn't need an empty promise, or even a real one; he just needed something other than _never_, something to give him a little bit to get by on.

"I don't know," Fraser said, giving Ray's achingly tense shoulders a momentary reprieve. Ray relaxed a bit, just a little bit, just enough to slump back against the kitchen counter and rub a hand over his head. Fraser hadn't said never. "However - which is to say - even if I were ever to - I'm, well, Ray, I'm a--"

"A criminal?" Ray almost smiled. The man really couldn't bring himself to say it, could he? Sure, he could go on the lam just fine, but ask him to put that into words, and he'd pretend English was his fifth language. "Right now, you're off the grid in pursuit of a known felon. Ask me again in a month, could be a different story."

The question was there, too: _when will you be back?_

Fraser's voice was softer again, infused with a secretive, aching kind of warmth that was _Ray's_, his alone - or had been, anyway, for a little while. "Ray, I--"

"I wish I could say I knew, Fraser," Ray interrupted, not wanting to hear the rest of it. "I really do."

No rain on the line this time. Maybe the storm was clearing up. If he checked the weather, maybe he'd be able to figure out where Fraser was right that very second, just judging by the pattern of the rain.

He didn't check. He didn't want to know.

Fraser cleared his throat. "Yes, well, I should--"

Ray gave, just _gave_; he couldn't hold out entirely, not when he didn't really know whether or not this was a one-shot deal. "Fraser, I--"

"Benton, who are you talking to?" Victoria's voice was just barely audible on the other end of the line, but there was no mistaking her.

Fraser had clearly been caught off-guard. "I'm just--"

The line went dead.

Ray didn't know _what_ the hell he'd been about to say. "I'm sorry," maybe. "I miss you," maybe. Not that other one, definitely not - they always talked around it and around it and never said it, and he wasn't about to say it to a Fraser so off-the-walls crazy that he'd go on the lam with a selfish, murdering bitch like Victoria Metcalf and call that _love_.

He still felt it, though. After the mad dash down the tracks, the depot searches, the morgues, the cleverly constructed lies that kept Fraser off the Most Wanted list at the expense of Ray's integrity - after all that, he still felt it, and he hadn't known it until he'd heard Fraser's voice on the line.

Maybe Ray had gone a little crazy, too. Much more of this, and he'd be as much of an accomplice as Fraser.

He was getting pretty good at not thinking about that a whole lot. He was getting pretty good at not _thinking_, in general: not thinking about the way Fraser's body had jerked when Ray had shot him, not thinking about the way Fraser had disappeared into the train car in Victoria's arms, not thinking about how every body in every morgue had been Fraser until Ray had pulled back the sheet and seen a stranger lying on the slab. Not thinking about _Fraser_.

As much as he could ever not think about Fraser.

_I miss you_. That was it. He wasn't sorry - not really, not anymore - but God, he missed Fraser.

At least Fraser hadn't said _never_. For now, that was better than nothing.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Another Train (Building Worlds That Don't Exist Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/188514) by [wintercreek](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercreek/pseuds/wintercreek)




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